My Face Hurts and it Feels Great

Know what I do when I feel the need for an energy realignment? I think about my kids. I think about silly things they've done and I walk around my home looking at pictures of them from when they were young up until now. It never fails to make me smile and often laugh out loud. I can't help it, they just bring me so much joy.

In order to change my mood from negative to positive I need to change my thought process and, although I can do it just sitting on the sofa and thinking of something funny, it works much better for me if I have a visual to go along with it. That's why, occasionally, I'll put stand-up comedy on the TV to help me but most often it's my kids that do the trick.

Looking at their smiles and pure joy from when they were toddlers makes me think of what happened on the day the photo was taken, and that will make me think of something more recent that put them and/or me in a good mood. Before I know it I'm standing in my hallway or sitting on my sofa laughing so hard anyone on the outside would think I'm insane. I'm laughing right now. They have so many moments that make me smile and laugh that I don't know which one of the kids makes me laugh the most.

Ty, 10, has a real quirky sense of humor. He's an old soul so his jokes are often well thought out before they even leave his lips. I guess he needs to make sure he's funny before he says anything to try to make someone laugh but that's adorable in itself. And his reaction to someone's laughter at his jokes is priceless; it's almost like he hit the jackpot by getting his funny point across just the way he wanted to. He's the one who, when asked what he wanted to do when we got home from the park, said, "Why don't we glue some relish pieces together and make a pickle."

Zach, 9, is my straight man. He'll tell a joke without cracking a smile while doing something else at the same time. He's the one about whom the school will be calling me in another couple of years. "Mrs. Domanski, we need you to come to school for a conference. Zachary isn't able to stop joking in class and everyone is always laughing." I'll just have to tell them to relax, enjoy the moment, and laugh with him. He just comes up with the most out-of-the-blue comments when they're least expected; those "you had to be there to get the humor" moments. He's the one who, when asked not to clean the neck of a sauce bottle by licking it but to use his finger instead, will say while taking a bite of his food, "You mean the finger I pick my nose with?"

Dolly, 6, is my free spirit. She does what comes to mind without any thought that anyone might be watching, and without any regard to what anyone else might think of her. A show will come on TV and she'll stand up and start dancing to it however she feels fit to dance. She'll be watching Netflix on her 3DS and have it sitting in her lap as she sits on a skateboard and pushes herself back and forth across the floor while reciting the lines from whatever show she's watching. She'll wear a rainbow-striped sweater, rainbow-dotted pants, flowered socks, and pink sneakers "because all the colors look pretty together" as she smiles her biggest smile.

Can you understand the joy these kids bring to me on a daily basis? It's no wonder I can just flip from a negative mood to a positive mood in an instant. I haven't stopped smiling the entire time I've been writing this - because I can't. I could try to think of something negative right now and it wouldn't matter a bit to me, not at all. I just wish other people could find joy in their lives like I have in mine.

I don't have a lot of money, I don't live in a mansion, and I don't have a fancy car or any other expensive "toys". I do have my kids and, although they're not perfect, they're mine, I love them with every ounce of my being, and they make me smile until my face hurts. And you know what? That makes me extremely wealthy. :)

Until next time...peace to all.

New Technology; Archaic Policies

I called my bank the other day to ask for a new bank card. The one I have doesn't expire until November of next year and the numbers are fading, I can barely see the security code on the back, and there are some stores where I have to put the card in a plastic bag to run it through the machine. It won't read without the bag; go figure. I need a new one.

So I got the customer service chick on the phone, I believe her name is Mary, and I explained that I needed her to order me a new card. She asked why so I gave her all of the aforementioned reasons. Then, to confirm what I'd told her she said, "So it's damaged?" Okay, if you say so. I told her it's not really damaged, it's just worn from use. "So it's damaged." Alright then.

She told me she'd put in for a new one but wanted to make sure I knew a few things first. Okay, shoot. You'll receive the new card in about 14 days. Got it. The credit feature of your current card will be cancelled until you receive the new card and activate it. Why? For security reasons. Okay. So you'll only be able to use the card as a debit with the PIN. Okay, I know my PIN. But the PIN that you selected will revert back to the original PIN that we assigned you. Huh? I don't know that PIN; what do I do? The stupidity got worse.

Well, you can come into the branch and reset it to the PIN you want. No I can't; I don't live in NY anymore. Do you visit? Uh, no. I have no reason to visit there. Do you have a shared branch out there in MO that you use? Yes, it's across the street. Well, then you can go there and withdraw cash if you need it. Why can't you just set my PIN to the one I have now? Because, as you know - no, I don't know - you have to come into the branch and manually set it. Seriously?

Every other bank in the world allows the account holder to change the PIN using the bank's automated phone system. Not my bank. Why not? I don't know; she didn't know - but I also didn't ask her because I knew she wouldn't know. When you activate the new card you can try to see if your PIN works but if it doesn't and you don't know the original PIN we gave you you'll have to call us and ask us to send you a new PIN. Hmmm...why don't I just call you and request that you issue me the PIN I've been using for the past two years? I didn't ask her but if the need arises I'll ask the next genius who answers the phone there.

So my credit use will be cancelled until I get the new card; I can only use the card as a debit using a PIN that I don't know; or I'll have to run across the street just to get cash when I need it. Well, the credit won't actually be cancelled until the department gets and processes the replacement card paperwork so it'll probably still work for about seven days. So I'll still be able to pay my bills online for the next few days? Probably. Fine, just send me the new card and I'll deal with the issues as they arise. Thank you, have a nice day.

That was on Monday. Apparently the replacement card department hasn't received my paperwork yet because the credit capabilities are still intact. I paid my bills tonight and will run to the bank tomorrow to get cash to pay my rent, and a little extra - just in case. I just get so annoyed with crap like that. With all the technology in the world today they're going to set rules like this that hinder their clients' account usage. It is what it is and I'll live until the new card gets here. Maybe once it gets here I'll be able to speak with someone on the phone who knows a bit more and can help me get up and activated again without a 20-minute speech on all the policies of the bank. We'll see.

Until next time...peace to all.

Complaint Plus Complaint Equals No Help

I got an email this past Wednesday from the property manager – PM – over here where I live. I’d sent emails and made phone calls to her complaining about the neighbors with the loud music and bullying son. PM called me last weekend after the third email I’d sent about the adult male from the offending household standing in the parking lot screaming at my next-door neighbor because she’d asked them to turn down the music. PM received my email and wanted to let me know that she’d address my complaints on Monday, referring to this past Monday.

I didn’t hear anything until I got the email from PN on Wednesday. Her email asked me to meet her in her office on Friday morning to discuss the complaint. I wrote back saying I’d be there around 8:30 unless she told me otherwise. She agreed and I set a reminder in my phone so I wouldn’t forget. I didn’t forget because generally when I set a reminder, write myself a note, or ask someone to remind me of something it never leaves my mind.

Friday morning I got up and go the kids ready for school and on the bus; then I went up to the office. I was there a bit early because I figured I’d get in to see PM, discuss what needed to be discussed, and get back home so I could do my chores and errands for the day. As is my luck she wasn’t at the office yet. The receptionist told me PM had called in a few minutes prior saying she was stuck in traffic. So I sat and waited. She arrived about 20 minutes later, went into her office to put away her belongings, and called me in to speak with her.

Just to make small talk while she gathered her paperwork I simply asked if the traffic was really bad.  Apparently there was a bad accident on the highway and she felt the need to tell me about it; I was just being polite, I wasn’t expecting every single detail. Anyway, she finished telling me about her ride into work and then she began discussing my complaints. She had them printed out and laying on the table next to her. She said she’d addressed the complaints with the neighbors in my complaints and then she began talking about tit-for-tat incidents. Huh?

She started telling me that her job is to try to keep peace amongst the residents in the complex and that she tries really hard not to have to put anything in anyone’s file. Okay, I had no problem with that. She went on to say that her main goal was to try to work things out so that neighbors could be neighbors. Again, that was fine with me. I don’t generally bother with my neighbors; I prefer to keep to myself and let everyone else do their own things. I wouldn’t have even bothered to complain about these neighbors except that my family was being bothered by their antics. Had it not affected any one of us I would never have said a word to anyone.

In any case, PM continued talking about how she just wanted to work with us to make sure that there were no further disturbances and since she’d discussed my complaint – names withheld, according to her – with my neighbors she also had to discuss a complaint lodged against me. Now I understood what the “tit-for-tat” comment was about. She said she couldn’t tell me who filed the complaint against me but she didn’t need to. I’m not an idiot. I’d filed a complaint against them about their son being a bully and about them playing their music in the parking lot too loudly. So, in turn, she went and filed a complaint against me – about my 12-year-old son being a bully. Imagine that.

I told PM that I don’t have a 12 year old; I told her my kids are 10, 9, and 6 years of age. She just said that the complainant thought my son was 12. I can only guess the my neighbor doesn’t even speak to her son about school or she’d have known that my son Zach – the one I can only presume she was complaining about being a bully – is in the same class as her son, who is eight. Both boys are in the fourth grade so Zach can’t possibly be 12. Even if she was referring to Ty she still can’t put puzzle pieces together. Ty rides the same bus to school as Zach and her son. That bus goes to the elementary school and the middle school. The middle school is fifth and sixth graders – 10 and 11 year olds; seventh grade and up, generally 12 years old and older, all go to the high school. Whatever, I’m nitpicking about her not being able to think logically. Eh, it is what it is.

Regardless, I let PM tell me about the complaint and all she said was that my son was being called a bully and would I please speak to him about it. Yes, I would speak to him, but what do I do when the bully continues to mess with my kids? I repeated that I can’t speak to the parents and don’t know what else to do. She said that, if it happens during office hours, I am supposed to call her and she’ll drive up to assess the situation. What the fuck is that going to do? By the time I even get past the receptionist the bully will have run to another part of the yard and changed his story to fit what he wants others to believe. Fuck it.

It just really sucks that I can’t try to get assistance to help my kids without getting a complaint filed against me. Because of that complaint management has to consider it a wash and won’t help me. Ask me again why I don’t trust anyone and have a problem with authority figures. I dare ya. I guess I’ll just have to wait until someone gets hurt by this kid and call the police. I have no other options at this point. And, from now on, I’ll make periodic surprise visits out to the yard, with my phone, so I can take video and try to capture the kid being a little shit. In the meantime I’m not going to stress over it; it’s out of my control so I’ll just wait and see what happens.

Until next time…peace to all.

Back to DOL for the Third Time

Tonight we’re going back to the shelter, just because. So far I’ve taken you to two of my DOL appointments and tonight I’m going to take you to third. This one was at the end of January and I didn’t feel like going alone so my friend Joe went with me to keep me company. It was great that he went with me because we had a lot of laughs while I waited to be called back for my appointment. People watching can be a great source of entertainment; just a little FYI.

My appointment was supposed to be at 10:00 but we waited almost two hours before I got called into the back. The waiting room was packed so I thought I’d be called in with a group again but I was wrong, it was just me. A nice lady walked me back to her desk and started going over the same information that everyone went over any time I visited a state office. It was redundant and I was bored within five minutes, and annoyed that I’d had to wait so long.

Lady explained to me that they’d all gotten called into a staff meeting first thing that morning, “When the boss wants us in a meeting, we go.” Apparently the time of those of us waiting wasn’t as important to the boss as his meeting. So be it. She went on to explain that they were also short some office staff because a couple had gone home sick and a couple more were out on vacations. I guess calling a few people to reschedule them when they had more staff would have been too logical for them; better to make us all wait for hours.

Regardless, I was in the chair so I just listened to what she had to say; and I wasn’t happy with it. My only choices were to either get a job – which I didn’t mind doing – or to go to a DOL work site. If I got a job my cash assistance would be taken away but I wouldn’t qualify for childcare services; if I went to a work site it would be from 9:00-5:00 every weekday and I would qualify for childcare services. There were problems with both of those choices.

If I got a job I’d have to pay for child care which would take most of my pay and I wouldn’t have any cash assistance to live on when we needed anything. If I went to a work site I wouldn’t be getting paid – it would be my contribution for living at the shelter; even though I never asked to be there, I was told I HAD to be there – but I wouldn’t be picking up my kids until 6:00 or later every night depending upon where the work site was located.

With either option the kids and I wouldn’t get back to the shelter until after our dinner hour so we’d have to eat out or get special permission to eat after the last dinner hour which would be at 9:00. That wasn’t going to happen. My kids would have to spend all their time, once we got back to PRD, doing homework, taking showers, and eating dinner, then rushing to bed. Our time to relax and be a family, or just for the kids to have time to play, would be gone.

I decided to tell Lady that my friend had offered me a job, which was true, and that I’d be working about 20-25 hours a week. Working with Ursula was great because she allowed me to work around the kids’ schedule. I didn’t have to get to her house until 9:00, after the kids got on the bus; and I left at 2:30 to make it back in time to meet the buses. Lady was happy to hear that and said it would probably work since Dolly was only five at the time so I wasn’t required to work more than 25 hours. If that was the case, why were they going to put me at a work site for eight hours every day? Hmmm…

She got my job approved by her supervisor, gave me some forms that I’d have to have my boss complete before my next visit, and told me I would have my next appointment with DOL at the end of February. She said I could have Ursula fill out the form and I could fax it the day before my appointment; I’d have to call to see if it was approved and I’d be able to skip going there in person. Sounded good to me so I took what she gave me and I left.

I still wasn’t happy knowing they were going to be taking my cash assistance since Paul had just begun working again and my child support hadn’t yet been reinstated. I was already behind on my car payment and didn’t want to fall further behind but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I did know that it would take a couple of months for DSS to actually process my job and decide to stop the cash so I was safe for a month or two. I decided not to stress over what would happen when it got to that point; I just decided to do the best I could with what I had and take the rest as it came to me. And that’s exactly what I did.

Until next time…peace to all.

 

Believe It Or Not; But First Ask Why

I said last night that I’m doing what I believe is the right thing to do with regard to my neighbors, their rude ways, and their bully of a son. You may not agree with me and that’s okay. You may think that my son needs to knock the crap out of the bully to get a point across, and that’s okay, too. I don’t mind if you do believe that – as long as you have a solid reason for your belief. I have one for mine.

For the past couple of months I’ve been seeing people post all kinds of political propaganda on their Facebook pages for one party or another. I’ve posted a few items myself, although it’s not a constant thing with me; when I post something it’s because it struck a chord with me. I don’t discuss politics with anyone anymore because when I did I got tired of hearing the person didn’t like the other candidate “because he’s an asshole. He’s messing up/will mess up this country.” No basis behind the belief and nothing concrete to explain why they felt the candidate was messing up or would mess up anything. They couldn’t provide one solid example.

How can a person have a belief in something without knowing why he or she believes in it? I don’t understand. I’ve always been a critical thinker; I ask questions about anything and everything until I’m sure I understand. I ask questions, and I do research, then I take all of my information and put it together to try to make sense of it. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. But at least I’m able to draw my own conclusions and believe what I want to believe; I don’t just take it for granted that something’s true just because someone told me it is.

I had an argument with a junior high school teacher one day because I asked him to clarify something he was dictating for our notes. He couldn’t answer the question; “I don’t know,” was his response. Then he went on to explain that he read the teacher’s edition of the same chapter I’d read the night before. So he was reading the same thing I was and telling me about it the next day. Why did I need a teacher if he was only repeating to me what I already knew?  If he didn’t have the information needed to answer my question then how did I know that what I was reading about was actually true?

Come to find out that not everything we’re told is true. Imagine that. George Washington wasn’t the first president of the United States, John Hanson was. How could Columbus have discovered America when Vikings were here before he was? Why is the birth of Christ celebrated in winter when he was actually born in the fall? Are you seeing a trend here? Just because someone tells you it’s true doesn’t make it so, yet I talk to people all the time who believe what they believe because “it’s what I was always taught.” So what?

Some of my religious friends, as well as strangers, get extremely upset when someone calls them on their beliefs. I’m not the type of person to beat my beliefs over someone’s head the way others I know do, and I have no problem if your beliefs clash with mine, but I will ask a question or two when they bring up their beliefs. Some of my friends actually get offended that I don’t hold their beliefs and that I make them question why they believe what they do. Most of them say they were raised to believe what they do. Again, so what?

When I ask if they’ve ever questioned or researched some of what they believe they ask why they should, “The Bible tells me everything I need to know.” Then by that same logic the history book you read in third grade must be 100% accurate too, right? They’ll admit the history book may be wrong but the Bible isn’t. Okay, that’s fine, but don’t tell me I’m wrong about something when you can’t give me a solid reason why I need to change my beliefs. I can give you reasons to change yours.

I have my own beliefs about everything: politics, religion, the way I raise my kids…and everything else I do in my life. And I know why I believe the things I do. I can back up any one of my beliefs with a logical, solid explanation. Can you? I don’t want my kid beating up on a bully because I believe that we need to be nice to people, even when they’re mean, because it creates a more positive attitude and atmosphere within ourselves. And until all outside avenues have been exhausted to try to diffuse the bully, being nice is the way to go. There may come a time when the need to defend himself will come into play but as long as my son can be nice to a bully without engaging in violence, he will.

I believe what I do about politics and religion because I’ve studied, spoken to numerous people of numerous affiliations, have seen things happen, and have put together my puzzle pieces to make sense of all the information I’ve collected. I do that all the time, on a daily basis. You can question me on any of my beliefs on any topic and I’ll answer you; except probably politics, like I mentioned before. People tend to get really nasty when you disagree with them or bust through their reasoning. They get less angry about religion, from my experience.

I just find it hard to believe that so many people can harbor the beliefs they do and not have any solid reasoning to back up why they believe it. I teach my kids to question everything; Zach even took the information, with a reference, to his teacher last year to show her that John Hanson was the first US president. His teacher was impressed and learned something new that day. I ask questions, my kids ask questions; do you, or do you hold beliefs that someone told you to hold? Have you ever thought about it? Why not?

Until next time…peace to all.

Am I the Only Logical One?

I’ve got two subjects I really want to discuss tonight; both of them have been on my mind for a couple of days. I think what I’ll do is discuss the one that’s more imminent right now and I’ll bring up the other one tomorrow.

Back on September 2^nd I told you about a kid in my neighborhood that’s a huge bully. That was my “A Bully Diffused?” post. He hasn’t yet been diffused but I’m hoping he will be by the end of next week. I told you I’d emailed the property manager informing her of what happened with Zach and the bully, D, and that I’d sent her the police report number. I also emailed Zach’s teacher to let her know what happened. During that same week I called the property manager who didn’t call me back; and I spoke with the school counselor and the principal who have both spoken to D but can’t really do much for me here at home.

Yesterday Paul actually tried to pick a fight with me over this kid. He was outside with our kids when D kept bothering them. He came in ranting to me about how something needs to be done and that he’s about to give the kid an ass beatin’. I told him he’ll do no such thing considering the fact that he’s not even supposed to be here and could risk getting me evicted. He went on bitching and moaning about D and how he treats the kids around here saying that his parents don’t bother raising their kid properly. I know that; I live here; I see what’s going on.

What really bugged me, though, is that Paul, while he was busying trying to pick this fight, was occasionally throwing in racial slurs. That really bugged me and I actually stopped him at one point and told him that I don’t allow racism in my home. I told him he needed to shut up with his racist comments – I never knew he was such a bigot, believe it or not – because I raised our kids to understand that people are people regardless of race, creed, sex or anything else. He didn’t like it but he quit using the ugly words.

Then he started with his bullshit again about how he was going to give Zach permission to beat the crap out of D the next time D put his hands on Zach. By ‘putting hands on’ Paul was referring to D grabbing Zach’s shoulder as he walked away from D. Yes, that is considered touching another person but it isn’t violent. I told him he was going to tell Zach no such thing and that he was going to continue to let me handle the issue. I repeated to him that he’s not even supposed to be here and that he’s going to lay low with my neighbors. So then he said that, when he does move into his own place, he’s going to tell Zach that he then has the permission to beat the crap out of D. It took everything in me not to tell him what an idiot I think he is.

He seems to think that spending six weeks with his kids gives him the right to step in and trample all over my beliefs and my values; and to completely reverse what I’ve taught our kids. On a quick sidebar, that sentence right there is the topic of the other post I wanted to make tonight so if you read tomorrow’s post you’ll put them together. Anyway, I just told Paul he’ll have to do what he feels the need to do and I dropped the subject.

What he and a couple of other people don’t understand is that I have to go through all the proper channels to report this and to have the authorities try to handle it first. I’ve contacted the property manager, I spoke with school officials, and I filed a police report. I have one more step to cover, and tonight I put it in motion. I had to contact the property manager again today because D’s dad came out of his house and was screaming at my next-door-neighbor’s daughter, who’s 20, because she’d asked a friend of his last night to lower the music he was blasting from his car.

For the past few nights D’s parents and their friends have been hanging out on their stoop with Rap and Hip Hop music pounding from the friend’s car, with the headlights pointing right into the front doors of my neighbor and me. All the daughter had done was to ask them to turn down the music because she had to get up early for work. Today, D’s father stood in the parking lot screaming at the daughter telling her it was none of her f*ing business what they did; that they’d lived there for four years and could do what they wanted, blah, blah, blah. He screamed at her in front of all the rest of us and all the kids that were playing outside, mine included. Now, I’ve cursed in front of my kids but I don’t punctuate every sentence with half a dozen “mother fucker”s like this dude was doing.

When he was finished I emailed the property manager again because I couldn’t get through to her voice mail. The office closed today at 3:00 and it was about 4:45 when I emailed her. About 5:00 she called me and apologized for not getting back to me sooner; they’ve been having problems with their phones and computer systems but she said she’d definitely address my issue on Monday. That was fine with me. Perhaps we’ll get some resolution for the problem, and it’ll be the final step I’ll have to take in the chain of reports.

After I speak with her on Monday I’ll see what options I have but I will definitely tell her and the police officers that are assigned to our community that if something isn’t done about this family I will absolutely give my son permission to defend himself and his sister against D. After I’ve gone through all the steps I need to take and ensure that I’ve reported the problem to anyone and everyone that can work with me to solve the problem I feel that my kids will then have the right to do what’s necessary to get the bully off their backs. It just seems that I’m the only one who understands that.

A couple of people besides Paul have also said that Zach should just punch D in the face. They don’t understand that if my kid is the one to always come out swinging I’m the one who’s going to get in trouble. After I’ve spoken to everyone I need to, however, nobody will be able to say anything to me if my son has to take matters into his own hands. I just wish there was some way to inject that logic into everyone else. But I guess it’s just not that easy, especially for Paul or he wouldn’t have gotten into so much trouble for being violent.

It is what it is, though, and I’m just going to do what I believe is the right. Come Monday I will have exhausted all my options and will take it from there. With luck management will be able to do something about it and my neighbors, my kids, and I won’t have to be bothered anymore. If not…well, let’s just wait and see. I’ll keep you posted as more details arise. In the meantime, please send positive vibes, prayers, or whatever it is that you send, to Paul so he’ll be able to learn that he needs to become a better person and father. Thanks.

Until next time…peace to all.

Selfish Dad and Broken-Hearted Kids

We moved into the shelter on June 1^st and barely heard from Paul for the next month. Then, out of the blue, I got a text message from a 317 area code telling me it was someone’s new cell number. I didn’t know who it was so I asked. It was Paul. Interesting. Suddenly he had a cell number with an out-of-state area code; I found out it was from Indiana. That could only mean that he had a new chick in his life and she was paying for his phone. I asked, he denied; or rather, ignored. He never answered my questions.

He did, though, start texting me, asking if I had thought of moving out of state. It made me nervous because he’s always been sneaky and I knew he was up to something. I figured he was baiting me; asking me if I was planning to move out of state so he could take me to court for custody of the kids. I was planning on staying in NY since we moved there so the kids could be closer to him. He kept asking, though. Then, about two weeks later he actually suggested a specific town in Indiana that he thought would be a great place for the kids and me to move.

Why would I move to IN? There was nothing in IN for me: no friends, no family, no support system, absolutely nothing. Why was he suggesting I move the kids to IN? Are you ready for this? He wanted me to move them there because HE was moving there to live with his new chick. Not only was he moving to IN, but he was moving by the end of July; about two weeks from the day he suggested I move there. There was something seriously wrong with him. We moved there so he could have a relationship with his kids and he was moving to another state to satisfy his own selfish needs. Unreal!!

He actually spent the next two weeks trying to convince me to move to IN. He said he and his new chick would put us up somewhere until I could find a place of my own. They would help me in any way until I got settled. On and on he went. I wasn’t moving the kids there. I did go to his apartment to get the kids’ belongings that he had there. He always kept toys and clothing there so the kids would have it when they visited. I took it all back to the shelter.

Now it gets even uglier. The day I picked up all the stuff from him, two days before he was leaving, I asked him if he was going to say goodbye to the kids. He said he couldn’t because of the no-contact order. He was still sticking to that lame-ass story. I just shook my head, said goodbye, and left. Now, when he’d first decided he was leaving town he didn’t even want me to tell the kids he was leaving. I told them anyway. I was so tired of having to cover for him all the time that I couldn’t take it anymore. I stopped covering for him and told them the whole truth.

The kids knew everything that was going on and everything that Paul had done; they even knew about the so-called no-contact order that Paul used as an excuse for not seeing them. They were not happy with him. Anyway, I’d taken all their stuff from Paul and put it in our room at the shelter. Later that night we had someplace to go and were in the van discussing Paul. Zach asked when Paul was moving and I told him it would be two days from then. As if a light switch suddenly went on in Zach’s head he blurted out, “Dad’s leaving without saying goodbye to us!?” I told them that, yes, their dad was leaving without saying goodbye because he still claimed there was a no-contact order in place.

Zach was really upset and I felt so bad. All the kids were quiet for a while when the song “Fuckin’ Perfect” by Pink came on the radio. We all listened for a while when Zach asked what the words meant. I told him the song is saying that no matter how bad he feels about himself he’s perfect in someone else’s eyes; that he could be really down on himself but someone in his life loves him. He asked me for an example of someone who loves him so I started listing people in his life – me, dad, grandma, Miss Sylvia – and then he started screaming at me. “THAT’S NOT TRUE! DAD DOESN’T LOVE US OR HE WOULDN’T BE LEAVING US AGAIN AND NOT SAYING GOODBYE!” Then he burst into tears.

My heart just shattered, and I wasn’t in a location where I could even stop the car to give him a hug. Paul moving to IN would be the third time he’d left the boys’ lives and the second time he’d left Dolly’s. Remember, she wasn’t born when Paul and I first split up. The kids were so upset that I couldn’t stand it but there was nothing I could do but pick up the pieces as they fell. I told them all that everything would be alright and that we wouldn’t have to worry about anything but us from then on. With Paul out of the picture we could just be a little family like we’d always been and that nobody would hurt us from then on. They agreed and cheered up a little. Two days later Paul left town and the only way I knew he was okay was from his Facebook posts, but I could, at least, let the kids know he’d made it to IN safely.

I wasn’t angry at what he did; I wasn’t even surprised. I told you I was putting the puzzle pieces together from the moment I got the text from the 317 area code. I was just really disappointed that he hadn’t changed or grown up even the slightest bit. I guess I was expecting too much from him. He’s always had issues, still does, and I doubt he’ll ever change. He can’t be alone and believes he has to be in a relationship to be complete. Unfortunately for him, that new relationship wasn’t anything he thought it would be; I found out later his chick was crazier than he ever was.

He wasn’t my concern, though. My concern was our children; the children he hadn’t spoken to in two months, and the same children he left, again, without so much as a goodbye. He’d done it before so I knew the drill. It would be difficult but I’d get the kids through it; and I did. Every time Paul’s in close proximity to them he screws it up royally – every single time. It’s coming again; past behavior is the best indicator of future behavior. And when it happens again, when Paul screws up, the kids will get through it; I’ll make sure of it, just like I always have.

Until next time…peace to all.

Sneaky, Sneaky, Sneaky

I said last night that I’d explain “another time” about what my ex-husband, Paul, did while we were in the shelter so I guess I’ll just get started on it tonight. It won’t all come out at once but I can, at least, tell you how it started. First, a little flashback. Paul and I were married in NY in 2001, moved to MO in 2004 when Ty and Zach were toddlers, got pregnant with Dolly in 2005, separated for complicated reasons, and got divorced in 2006. In 2007 Paul moved back to Long Island to be closer to his family because he couldn’t afford to live in MO by himself.

In 2010 I decided to move the kids closer to him since he’d only seen them once in the time that he’d moved. At that point Dolly had only spent that one vacation with him. He’d flown out to MO, picked them up, flew back to NY, and, ten days later, flew them back to me. He’s only allowed to get them for a week during the summer per our divorce agreement. It stems from him working retail with an unsteady schedule. He’d never be able to get them for the general six weeks that non-custodial parents are permitted because he’d end up having to put them in daycare. The week-long visit was his idea, not mine.

Anyway, while we were in the process of our divorce he spent a lot of time making my life miserable. He was court-ordered to pay all my bills since I didn’t have a job – I’d become a stay-at-home mom after Ty was born – but he refused to pay them and I kept getting late notices. He had the washer/dryer that he was renting for me removed but was ordered to put them back, he called Child Protective Services on my so many times that they were ready to prosecute him for the false allegations. Then he stopped paying our rent saying that there was too much work needed on the house and he wouldn’t pay the rent until the landlord fixed everything. Paul never even mentioned any needed repairs to the landlord; he just stopped paying the rent. The kids and I were evicted and we ended up where we are now, in HUD-subsidized housing.

So you see Paul’s temperament. He was pissed that I’d thrown him out and decided that he needed custody of the kids and all the control over me that he could get. Nothing he tried worked, however, because I always bounced back. Flash forward to the kids and me moving back to NY. I wanted them to be able to have a relationship with him and while we lived with my friend he saw the kids almost every weekend. I was allowing him to make up for lost time with them while I worked with Ursula and Mark to make some extra money. Then I got word that we had to move and ultimately found out the shelter was my only option.

In a last-ditch effort to avoid the shelter, I’d offered Paul to take the kids for a couple of weeks so I could find a place to live. I’d stay with a different friend and once I found a place I’d get the kids back. He agreed but then asked me for a letter stating that he had temporary custody of them. I guess he forgot who I was and that I hold a BS in Paralegal Studies. I give him a letter stating he has temporary custody then I have to go back to court to get them back. No thanks. He’s a sneaky shit but I always see right through him; and I knew he was up to something. I told him no on the letter and moved the kids and me into the shelter.

I’ve mentioned before that the State will issue a bed hold for court-ordered visitation, they have to abide by the divorce agreement, so it was all set up for the kids to have their alternate weekends with him. The shelter and Central Housing both had copies of my divorce agreement stating when Paul’s visitation with the kids was so they were prepared to issue the bed holds on those weekends. The kids couldn’t wait for those visits.

We moved into the shelter on a Wednesday and that weekend was supposed to be Paul’s. I never heard from him, nor had he called the kids for that first few days to see how things were going. By the middle of the second week we still hadn’t heard from him so I texted him – I text everything to him so I can keep copies on my computer – and asked him if he was picking up the kids that coming weekend. He asked if I was crazy. When I asked what he meant he told me that he wasn’t allowed to have any contact with the kids. I said he was permitted to see them for his weekends but he said Family Court told him he’s not allowed to have any contact with them while I had them in a shelter. That got my mind spinning, trying to figure out what he was talking about; I didn’t get anything from Family Court and I would have had there been a no-contact order issued. Hmmm…what was he up to? What was he planning?

I didn’t know then but I did find out a few weeks later. Up until I found out, though, he had absolutely no contact with the kids and virtually no contact with me; he didn’t even bother to ask me how they were doing. I didn’t even hear from his family who’d been seeing the kids on their earlier visits with Paul. Imagine that; a man and his family who claim to love the kids so much that they wouldn’t even send a text asking about them. It was incredible to me. Then Paul did something so seriously unbelievable to us that Zach wanted to forget he had a dad; you'll get the details tomorrow night.

Until next time…peace to all.

Another Decision Gone Wrong?

I don’t know if I mentioned it or not by my ex-husband, Paul, has been staying with us for a few weeks. He transferred with CVS from Indiana to here and is working on getting his own place but something needs to come through faster. Our kids are getting confused and he’s not realizing it.

In the past I’ve spoken with the kids about who their family is and who my family is: they are my kids so they’re my family; they are Dad’s kids so he is their family; but Dad and I are no longer family. Ty understands just fine but Zach and Dolly, especially Dolly, have a hard time understanding and with Paul staying here isn’t helping the situation.

Zach has been so angry with his dad in the past that he spent months not even speaking to Paul; he refused after everything Paul had done in the past and for what he did to us over the year when we were in the shelter. I’ll explain all of that at another time. Zach needs a man around and tends to bond with any man, or older teen, who pays any attention to him. I haven’t dated anyone so he basically becomes friends with my friends’ husbands or the kids in the neighborhood.

Dolly never really had a man in her life; Paul and I separated when I was pregnant with her and divorced shortly after she was born. In her six years of life she’s spent all of maybe eighteen months in the company of her dad. She’s skittish around men and generally gets very shy; but she loves having her dad around. It’s getting out of hand now, though.

She and Zach constantly ask me when Dad will be coming home from work. This isn’t his home and I’m having a hard time making them understand that. This is just where he’s staying temporarily. They understood the concept when the kids and I lived with friends or when we were in the shelter; they just don’t get that this isn’t Paul’s home.

Last night Paul got pizza for dinner so the kids sat at the table with him and I stood to the side eating with them but Dolly commented that it was nice to have all of us there eating together. While it might be nice for her it’s uncomfortable for me. I usually spend my time alone when he’s here so he can spend time with the kids, basically because I know it won’t last once he gets his own place. But I still want to instill family values in them and that includes eating dinner together.

They’ve spent the last two years without our regular guidelines and I’m trying so hard to get my family back to the way it had been in the past; it was beginning to work until Paul got here. Now there are no guidelines because of his alternating retail schedule – just like it had been when we were married and the boys wouldn’t stay on a schedule – and it’s hard for me to make them understand that we still need to stay on schedule. They want to eat with their dad; they want to spend time with him; they want him to be a regular part of their lives but they don’t realize, like I do, that once he moves out he won’t be around as often as he is now.

My problem is that I’m wondering how it’ll affect them once he does get his own place and gets a girlfriend and doesn’t have time for them like he does at this moment. Trust me, when we were married he had no time to spend with the boys. His idea of spending time with them was him washing his car while they played on the other side of the yard. Regardless, I’m worried that I screwed up by allowing him to stay here with us.

I was trying to do the right thing by them and him by allowing him the convenience of having a place to stay so he could relocate to be closer to our kids. Now I’m not so sure I’m not doing more harm than good. But, it is what it is and I can’t change what’s done. I’m not going to beat myself up over it; I’m just going to let it ride and be there to pick up the pieces, again, when my kids get their hearts stomped again. I know it’s coming but I can’t control it, I just have to let it be. And I will…for now.

Until next time…peace to all.

A Dog Of A Different Kind

I’m always talking about the negative crap at the shelter but there were some good times, too. I’ll get to the government money issue another time because my daughter, Dolly, sparked a memory for me today and wanted to share it. I’d posted on December 12, 2011 and titled it “A Dog Tale” and this story kind of ties in with that one. You’ll see why in a few minutes. It’s one of those stories where you really had to be there to understand the humor, but I bust a gut every time I think about it. Maybe you will, too.

A day or so after the backyard dog incident Lisa and I had some errands to run one day while our kids were at school. Our dinner hours ran into one another so we decided to just feed all our kids together. We needed to go buy groceries so we headed out to the local supermarket but first Lisa needed smokes and I had to get gas. We went to the local BP gas station and she ran inside while I pumped the gas. Just as I finished and was putting on the gas cap a Jamaican dude came up to me with a box full of new socks.

He was selling them and was pushing me hard to buy some, “Six for $10,” or something like that. I needed socks but had no cash on me whatsoever. I told him that repeatedly but he just kept showing the socks to me. I guess he’d seen me drive in with Lisa because as she came out the door he looked at her and said that Lisa had cash and I ought to borrow some from her. I told him no and started to get in the van. Meanwhile, Lisa was just glaring at him and opening the passenger door to get in, too. I told the guy that the next time I had cash I’d buy some socks from him but that Lisa and I had to leave.

We drove off, left him standing there, and headed off to the supermarket about three blocks away from the BP. On the short drive Lisa was telling me the dude with the socks had met up with her inside the mini-mart and tried to sell her shoes – used shoes. Lisa had told him she didn’t want any so he’d gone outside to try to sell me the socks. We just laughed at the fact that he was selling used shoes – gross.

We walked around the store picking up stuff for dinner for a few nights and headed to the check-out counter. We both paid for our items and headed out the door. Just as we got to the exit we saw a big recycle bin the store keeps there for people to throw out soda cans and whatnot. On top of the bin was a box of old shoes. I made a joke about the store selling shoes and Lisa looked at it. She stopped and gasped, “He’s here.” I asked her what she meant. She said the box was the same box the Jamaican dude had when he was trying to sell Lisa the shoes. Oh goodness. We had to get out before he saw us.

Let me just tell you, we’d bought a lot of groceries so we were loaded down with plastic shopping bags. Lisa had seven or eight bags and so did I, and they were heavy. We headed out the door and toward my van and we scanned the parking lot for the dude on the way. We looked to the right; nope, he wasn’t there. We looked to the left; he was there. Gotta get away quick, before he spots us. Oops, too late. He was us and headed into our direction. We took off running as fast as we could. We weren’t scared, just didn’t want to be harassed by this dude trying to sell us socks and used shoes. We were actually laughing as we ran, or trying to run.

All the bags were weighing us down so we weren’t exactly running; we were more like toddling and waddling at a quick pace. We heard the dude yell after us, “Hey, wait…” I just yelled back, “We gotta go, sorry.” And Lisa yelled, “Sorry, pressed for time.” Did she actually say “pressed for time”? Yes she did. That got me laughing really hard. We kept waddling toward my van and finally got in and drove away, all the while with the dude still trying to get our attention with his socks. Whew, we made it.

As we were driving we were laughing and talking about the dude’s persistence. I said it was funny that we were chased by the four-legged kind of dog and the two-legged kind. Lisa agreed he was a dog and spoke as if she were him, “HEY! BUY DEEZ SHOES! {WOOF WOOF WOOF}!” Just the way she said it and the suddenness of the comment made me bust out laughing so hard I could barely see through all the tears pouring from my eyes. I couldn’t breathe and neither could Lisa. We were laughing so hard we couldn’t talk. It’s a good thing I was driving on a quiet side street because we’d have crashed otherwise.

We laughed like that for about five minutes and if you’ve ever laughed that hard you know the effects of it. We had tears running down our faces, our noses were leaking, our stomachs hurt, and we couldn’t breathe. Holy crow, it was funny as all get out. Every time we thought about Lisa’s comment from that day forward we started laughing all over again. That’s what happened this morning. Dolly mentioned the Jamaican dude to me today as she pulled on a pair of socks I’d eventually bought from the guy months later. She asked me if I remembered him and I said I did. Then I thought of Lisa and me that day and busted a gut laughing all over again.

I texted Lisa the line she’d said that day and she texted back that she’ll never forget it. I could tell she was laughing about the same way I was. My kids kept asking me what was so funny but I just told them I was thinking funny thoughts. In my mind I could hear Lisa laughing too, her lovely, melodic laugh that always made me smile. So being in the shelter wasn’t always a bad thing. I’m still friends with Lisa and her daughter, as well as four other women and their families that I met there. I love them all and have more stories like this one that’ll come out in time. No worries.

Until next time…peace to all.

Vote For Me So I Can Ignore You

Did you know that the Suffolk County government officials don’t care about the people who vote for them? They don’t, I’m telling you because I know first hand. When my friend told me that she was selling her house and the kids and I had to be out I searched for places to live. I told you that in other posts. Social Services told me I couldn’t be helped unless we were in emergency housing. Every other agency I called told me I didn’t qualify for their programs and referred me to Social Services. My next step was to contact the local government officials; and I did.

I first contacted the Suffolk County Executive’s office. I spoke with a receptionist or whoever answers the phones and explained my situation and everything I’d done to find a place to live up to that point. Her advice: contact Social Services. I’d already told what Social Services told me but she just apologized and said there was nothing the executive’s office could do for me. I didn’t realize receptionists had so much power. So I went to the next step.

I call the county legislator’s office. I spoke with an aide there and explained the reason for my call. He took my name and all of my information, and took notes on what I’d told him – something the chick in the executive’s office didn’t do. He gave me his name and told me he’d make some calls and get back to me. That sounded promising so I figured I’d give him a couple of days to find what he needed and I waited for his call.

I’m not an impatient person by nature; I figure two days is a proper amount of time to wait for someone to call me back. I got no phone call so I called the aide back on the third day. I wasn’t happy. I found out he was on vacation for the next week. Why’d he tell me he’d call back when he knew he wasn’t going to be in the office? Why didn’t he hand my information to someone who’d be in the office and let that person help me? You don’t know and neither do I.

The guy I spoke with that day took my information all over again and said he’d check the first guy’s desk to see if there was any information there and that he’d get back to me. He didn’t either and I was fed up. I had no other choice but to call the assemblyman’s office. The girl who answered the phone took my information and story again and said she’d call me back. I waited the two days and had to call her back on the third day. Imagine that; government offices that don’t return anyone’s phone calls. How sad.

When I called her back she told me that she’d done a little checking and that she’d given my information to…guess what…the county legislator’s office. Holy shit!! Unbelievable!! Just like a politician to pass the buck. She gave me the name of the person she’d given my information to and told me to call that person if I didn’t hear from the girl first. Of course I didn’t hear from her, she was much too busy to deal with me; I was a nobody in her eyes.

So I called her and was told by the person that answered the phone that the girl was unavailable but would get back to me if I left a message. I left a message and never heard from her. As a matter of fact, I never heard from anyone from any of the government offices again. No matter how many times I called nobody ever got back to me; I was told I’d get return phone calls but my phone never rang.

It was amazing to me that those officials didn’t give a crap about the people who voted for them. They didn’t care, and still don’t, because they’re the same people who made the laws, rules, and regulations that govern the people who receive government assistance, and they won’t do anything about the crap that we have to deal with when we’re in the system. Why won’t they do anything? Because the government makes more money when there are families in shelters. Yes, they do; and I’ll explain that to you next time.

Until next time…peace to all.

Old Chore, New Methods

When I said at the end of my “Help Was No Help” post that I started doing things my own way with regard to the housing logs I wasn’t exactly honest. I didn’t start doing them my own way; I started doing them the way everyone else in the PRD house did them. I didn’t start it, it was taught to me by the residents who were there when I moved in. They taught it to all the newbies because they knew the search was fruitless the way Social Services wanted it done. If anyone in the government had ever had to find housing by those guidelines they’d have known it was impossible.

I started writing up the logs without making any of the phone calls; everybody did. The logs didn’t come out any differently than my previous ones did. When it came to writing the result of the “phone call” on the log it was pretty easy; most of the ads specifically said they didn’t take programs, or pets, or only wanted two people living in them. Others had key words to look for to find out what they wanted or didn’t want.

For instance, it might be listed as a two-bedroom apartment but the context of the ad would say “one-two bedrooms” or “one bedroom and an office” which told me that the second bedroom was a small space and wouldn’t qualify under the government requirements. Or it would say “proof of income required” which meant the landlord didn’t accept any government programs. It was little things like that that I learned from doing them for so many months;  just running through the ads and writing down apartments I didn’t qualify for was easy. Instead of taking a few days to do my housing logs I took about two hours on Sunday afternoons to get them done. I didn’t qualify for anything so there was no point in wasting time with phone calls.

CM had me in her office one day telling me that Social Services was going to start questioning why I hadn’t found a place after eight months when people had come into the shelter after me and had found places to live. I explained to her that there were only four families that had found places to live: one was working and didn’t qualify for government assistance anyway; one had Section 8 that she’d gotten 20 years prior so it was easier for her; one was only parent/teen so there were more options for them; and the last didn’t follow the guidelines set by the state.

When CM asked what that meant I told her that that family had gotten a place for more than the government was willing to pay. Remember I told you the government will only assist with a certain amount of rent according to the size of the family. For my family I told you it was either $1200 or $1250 depending upon which program I used. This family got a place for $200 over what the program offered; the government would pay their portion and my friend would pay the balance of the rent out of pocket. CM said the government wouldn’t go for that. DUH!! I told her the government didn’t know about it.

The landlord and the tenant wrote up the lease at the amount of rent the program paid, and the tenant was responsible for the rest, without the government having any knowledge of it. I told her that lots of the residents were trying to do that, and that residents of other PRD houses had also done it, because the government didn’t offer enough rent assistance for anyone to get a decent place. It’s not like CM really cared; she was just there to help, in her mind, anyway. She actually shrugged it off when I explained it to her.

I told her I wasn’t going to do that because it’s a sure-fire way to end up homeless again. The government pays their amount and the tenant is required to work. Once the income is flowing, the rent assistance lessens and the more rent you pay out of pocket, including what you were already paying that the government didn’t know about. Your food stamps also go down. You’re barely breaking even, if you are. The more you make, the more your assistance gets lowered, which is what’s supposed to happen, however, the percentage they take away is more than the percentage of your income increase.

Eventually one of two things happens: you either work constantly to be able to pay your bills; or you fall behind and end up losing the place thus ending up back in a shelter. I wasn’t taking any chances. At least out here I know I can live in subsidized housing for the time being while I get back on my feet, and afford to pay my bills. They have subsidized housing in NY but it isn’t income based, and you have to have a minimum income of $24K to be able to move into the place.

So I got around the tedium of doing the housing logs – no, staff didn’t know that anyone was doing it that way  – and put more effort into getting back here. I figured I could work and save some cash while still following the rules of the state and the shelter; and that’s where I turned my efforts. I had no other options: complaining didn’t do any good, and nobody cared anyway; and I knew I could never afford to live in NY with only one income. So I did what I had to do for me and mine. As far as I was concerned the kids and I would live there for just as long as we had to while I did all I could to get us back to where we belonged. I knew it would take a few more months but it was enough of a light at the end of a dark tunnel to keep me motivated; and that it did.

Until next time…peace to all.

Help Was No Help

Every week at the shelter I’d sit and do my housing logs. I’d open the Internet, go to craigslist, and search for all the two-bedroom apartments I could find that were $1200 or less. It really got to be monotonous. Like I said previously, the local papers didn’t have enough leads so craigslist was my only option. Occasionally a craigslist ad would direct me to another website or I’d go on places like rent.com but they never resulted in anything viable.

It got to the point that I actually Googled Long Island real estate companies and found a really great site that had a huge list of agencies. I started with A in Suffolk County and worked my way through the alphabet. I called each agency and had one of four results: a) I’d leave a message on voicemail and never get a call back; b) I’d speak to a receptionist who would take a message and I’d never get a call back; c) I’d speak to an agent, give my information and my needs, and would be told I’d get a call back – never did; d) I’d speak to an agent only to be told that the agency doesn’t work with renters who take programs.

The staff at the shelter always told us to NEVER tell the real estate agent or the prospective landlord that we were on government programs – I explained those in another post – because, they said, we needed to “get a foot in the door.” They instructed us to go through all the basic questions first and when the apartment sounded like something we were interested in we could ask if the landlord accepted programs. They told us that we ought to even set up an appointment to see the place before mentioning SSP or SHARP. That was one of the dumbest things I’d ever heard.

Why in the world would I waste my time and that of a real estate agent, or prospective landlord, by going through all the preliminary shit first, possibly go see the place, and then mention programs later only to be told that the landlord didn’t accept them? I always started out by explaining that I needed a two-bedroom apartment for $1200 or less for three kids and me, and that I needed a landlord that accepted programs. That was the easiest way to weed out those I didn’t need to continue calling.

I got so frustrated at not being able to find anything, even through real estate agents, that I finally told CM that I needed some sort of assistance. I was told that I had to call Central Housing to get a referral to the Family Services League. I needed a fucking referral. Gimme a break. But I called and I got the referral. A day later a guy, M, from FSL called me to set up an appointment to do an intake on me so he could find out what I was looking for. Dude worked with state agencies on a constant basis; did we really need to meet? Couldn’t he just ask me the questions over the phone? Yes and no.

M arrived a few days later for our appointment and he asked me a bunch of bullshit questions, questions that were basically a given because he answered them for me; I was just there to confirm the answers he already knew. Whatever. He walked me through his spiel and told me he’d start looking immediately to try to find me a place. When I asked what the odds were of him finding me a place to live and he said, “It all depends on the real estate agency. It’s hit or miss.” HUH? What did his job have to do with real estate agencies?

Come to find out that M spends his days calling real estate agencies to try to find me a home. I told him that what he was going to start doing was what I’d just spent weeks doing to no avail. I told him I believed he’d be wasting his time but he said he was going to try anyway. Guess what. He wasted his time. In the entire seven months that he was ‘helping’ me find a place he came up with only one and it was a mobile home all the way back out from where we’d come, only a few miles farther. I told him I wasn’t interested because I’d spent almost a year out there when I was living with my friend and couldn’t find a job to save my life. I told him I needed something closer to the middle of the Island.

He said that was fine, that he’d keep looking, and he even called me once a month to find out how I was doing, but he never again called to tell me he’d found me a place to live. Why? Because there weren’t any available. I believe I told him that when I first met him but he insisted that there were places out there. I guess the joke was on him. So much for the only home-finding assistance New York offered to residents of shelters being of any use. It didn’t matter because I finally got fed up with the housing log bullshit and started doing things my own way. Fuck ‘em.

Until next time…peace to all.

A Bully Diffused?

We had a full-blown bully incident today. There’s a little boy in our cul-de-sac that is incredibly mean to all the kids in the neighborhood but especially takes his frustrations out on my three kids Ty, Zach, and Dolly. Ever since we moved in a couple of months ago Zach has made friends with all the boys his age and they get along great. The little bully, D, has an issue with Zach because a lot of the other kids don’t want to play with him anymore and he claims Zach stole all his friends. It would be great if someone would tell him that his attitude is the reason the other kids don’t want to play with him; some of the other parents won’t let their kids anywhere near D.

I have witnessed D out in the cul-de-sac parking lot screaming at other kids using foul language and racial slurs. He spent about 20 minutes one afternoon yelling at one little boy, calling him a “white-trash mother fucker.” He challenged the kid to a fight and when the kid went into his home D continued yelling at him from across the street, “Come on bitch! Let’s go white trash!” D’s mother watched her son yell at the boy and then called him in the house, perhaps just to give him a hug because D was back outside five minutes later.

D has called my daughter, who is six years old, a “white-trash bitch”; he’s told her to “shut your big-ass mouth”; and he’s threatened to “knock Dolly’s ass to the ground” if she ever spoke to him again. He’s taken toys from Zach and his other friends when they’re sitting on our stoop playing; he then runs with the toy until Zach threatens to tell D’s mother. He also lips off to adults when they speak to him; at least to me, anyway. He doesn’t listen, either, when the other kids ask him to go away. Just this morning Zach was playing with a friend on the stoop and asked D to leave so many times that I had to step to the door and ask him to play somewhere else.

I’ve tried to handle the issues the polite way, by knocking on their door and talking to his parents. They always tell me they’ll handle the situation but they never do. Ty has also gone over there and complained about him and D gets called inside for a few minutes but never gets any real discipline. I feel bad for him in a way but if his parents don’t step up and do something now that kid is going to end up in some serious trouble.

For the past two days things have gotten worse with this kid. My kids have come in numerous times telling me D won’t leave them alone, that he threatened my daughter, that he’d taken their toys, and that he just wouldn’t go away. It got to the point this morning that Zach and his friend DM were playing down at the end of our building with Dolly and D started again. I’d already told my kids not to be around him but he follows them. He actually got to where he was trying to steal Zach’s and DM’s shoes off of their feet, and he kept shoving Zach. Zach walked away, just like I’ve always told him to do, and came to tell me what had happened but D was still down at the end of the walk taunting Zach by yelling, “Come on mother fucker; come get me!” Zach had enough.

He charged back at D, at a full run, and took him to the ground with one of his wrestling moves – he never threw one punch – and he held D on the ground while D struggled to get up. I had yelled at Zach to stop before he even got to D but Zach was so angry he didn’t hear me. I walked down to pull them apart with D’s mother screaming at me the entire time. I just ignored her, pulled Zach off of D, wrenching my back in the process, and turned Zach toward our home. D got up and started swinging at Zach yelling, “Come on! Hit me n*gga!” I held up my hand and told him to stop with the language and started walking Zach back home.

D’s mother, who had apparently been watching the entire time, was screaming at me that there is something wrong with me because of the way my kid acted. “What the fuck is wrong wit’ you, bitch!?” I guess, in her world, it’s okay for her son to be a bully toward other kids as long as he wins the fight. Fuck that! I was actually proud of Zach for defending himself against that kid without hurting him. Zach showed D that he’s not afraid of him and that he’s a force to be reckoned with. Good for Zach! I didn’t say that to D’s mother, though, I just let her scream all she wanted. She spent a few minutes calling me a bitch and telling me I was fucked up. Alright then.

When she finally paused to take a breath I told her she needed to go home and handle her son; that I’ve heard the way he speaks to the kids in the neighborhood and seen the way he treats them. I told her I was tired of her son calling my daughter a white-trash bitch and threatening her. I told her to fix it before we have a huge issue. As I turned to go into my door she was talking to another neighbor and said, loud enough for me to hear it, “She comes outside again and I’mma slap dat bitch!” I told her not to threaten me to which she replied, “Shut the fuck up, bitch!” And I retorted with, “Well, at least I know where you son gets it. Go home,” and I shut my front door.

Then I called the police and filed a report over the phone; emailed the property manager recounting the incident and giving her the police report number; and I emailed Zach’s teacher because Zach and D are in the same class. I’m not going to live like this and neither are my kids and it’s going to be stopped now or I’ll contact HUD and deal with it on that level. This is HUD subsidized housing so there has to be someone there who can help me if the locals can’t.

Anyway, when I told my ex what had happened he had a different opinion of the way Zach ought to have handled D. He said that Zach should have belted D the minute D shoved him. I told him that I’ve always taught the kids to walk away from a fight if they can because violence isn’t the answer. He shook his head and said, “No way! You should NEVER turn your back on anyone because you don’t know what they’ll do and I’m going to tell Zach that.” I disagreed again saying it takes a bigger person to walk away than to stand there and fight. Paul shook his head again and said it has nothing to do with being the bigger person; it has to do with not letting people hurt you. I told him we’d have to agree to disagree on that point.

I don’t condone fighting at all but, like I stated before, if the bully won’t stop when the victim walks away, the victim, in this case Zach, has the right to defend him or herself. However, if walking away can defuse the situation I believe that’s what needs to happen. I don’t want my kids sinking to the level of the bully but today Zach had every right. The police officer who took my report even agreed when I told her about Zach’s wrestling move. “Good for him!” she said.

I don’t like my ex’s attitude; violence is his way of handling everything and everybody who ticks him off and I think it’s wrong. Maybe you agree with him that Zach should have hit D when D first shoved him but I stand behind my values and that won’t change. I don’t want him telling Zach to punch anyone just because he gets shoved; I’m going to have to intervene there. In any case, I needed to get that off my chest; it’s been weighing on me all day. Now I’m going to relax and put it behind me until Tuesday morning when I’m going to call the property manager to discuss the situation. I’ll fill you in when I find out if there’s any remedy.

Until next time…peace to all.

Shelter Christmas...Trees

This is actually funny and sad at the same time but I have to tell it. Back on 12/13/11 I made a post titled Reality Check where I discussed having to listen to people bitch and gripe about stupid crap. In that post I talked about the upcoming Christmas and how different it would be for my kids and me from our past Christmases. Well, I was right, it was different. When you’re in a homeless shelter you can’t have holidays like you can when you have your own place.

One of my worries had been that my kids would have very few gifts on Christmas morning. I had no money and I wasn’t sure if their dad was going to send them anything. Well everything was actually great for the kids. Their dad sent two big boxes full of stuff for them; I was able to make a little money to buy them a few things as well as their stocking stuffers; and some friends also bought the kids gifts. They really weren’t lacking for anything despite my fears.

We also didn’t have to spend Christmas sitting in the shelter because a friend of mine, who had lived in the shelter for a few months with two of her kids, invited us over to her place to have dinner with her and her family. That was really nice of her and we all had a great time. But that’s not really what I wanted to tell you about. I wanted to tell you how the people in the PRD corporate office think of their residents.

I mentioned in the 12/13 post that there would be a Christmas tree in the upper common room that the kids would be allowed to decorate. They were so excited because we always decorated our tree together, as a family. They couldn’t wait. They knew there couldn’t be any lights on the tree because lights were considered a fire hazard but they didn’t care. They just wanted to put decorations on it and they couldn’t wait for December 19^th to arrive. That’s when the tree was supposed to be delivered and I was told it would be about eight feet tall. The upper common room had vaulted ceilings so an eight foot tree would look great up there.

Well the 19^th arrived and all the kids in the house went off to school anticipating coming back to the shelter to see the huge Christmas tree. I left to go work with Mark and Ursula for the day. It was business as usual. Then I got back to the shelter before the buses arrived and I finally got a good look at how we poor, homeless people were viewed by the corporate assholes that run PRD.

I walked in the back door as usual and just to my right, in the corner of the lower common room, was a Christmas tree. I actually stopped and did a double take when I saw it. Are you ready for this? The tree was a little over five feet tall; badly squished and misshapen; and it was decorated with silver garland, a few Christmas balls, hand-colored paper decorations that looked like they were made by preschoolers, and a silver star on top. The worst part though was that it was leaning against the wall; not standing, leaning. It had a red rag around the bottom of it that hid – I know because I looked – that base that was supposed to have four prongs but only had three, hence the fact that it couldn’t stand on its own. I was stunned. What the fuck was it doing there?

Marcy happened to be coming down the stairs and saw me staring at the Charlie Brown Christmas tree and we laughed at it. Then she told me there was another one in the upper common room that was just as bad. I had to see it for myself so I went upstairs. She was right. The one upstairs was about the same height as the one downstairs only the upstairs one was decorated with paper garland and had only hand-colored decorations on it, and it didn’t even have as many as the tree that was downstairs. It, too, was leaning against the wall because the three-pronged base had only two prongs. I couldn’t believe it. I was wondering what the kids would think when they got home; I was afraid they were going to be really disappointed.

 

If they were disappointed they didn’t show or voice it. Dolly thought the some of the decorations were cute, and Zach and Ty basically laughed at the trees the way I did. Then they went off to do their homework and that was that. It wasn’t the same for us adults. All the other residents agreed with me. Weren’t we entitled to a new Christmas tree, or at least a tree that didn’t look so raggedy? Just because we were in a shelter for the holidays didn’t mean we didn’t care about the holidays. I even made a joke to everyone, staff included, that the trees looked like someone from maintenance had just picked them up off the side of the street after the previous owners threw them away. Here’s the kicker. I was informed by staff that that’s exactly what had happened.

I can only guess but it seems as if PRD didn’t feel like purchasing a new tree for us that year because we weren’t worthy so we got someone else’s discards. They didn’t even have the decency to take the old decorations off so our kids could decorate them, nor did they fix the bases so they could stand on their own. That was a seriously shitty thing to do. I don’t know if it happened in the other PRD houses or not because, believe it or not, we weren’t supposed to speak to or associate with the residents of the other houses.

The whole thing made me sick to think that, just because we were poor and homeless, we had to spend our holiday being treated to second-hand decorations. I mean, shit, it would have been better to not have any Christmas trees at all than to have the pieces of shit that we got. People in hospitals get better decorations. I know it seems trivial to you but we were all trying to make the best of our situations and having to have our holiday in a shelter; the least the corporate assholes could have done was make the place a little brighter for us. They may not have thought we were worth it, but we all knew we were. Fuck them. May their ignorance and stinginess come back to bite them in their asses.

Until next time…peace to all.